Prose Header


The Train Cries

by Dawnell Harrison


The train cries as if its engine
is hooked to a crane.

A baby screams about
a blood-red fable and scrubs

the air raw.
The geese flutter

into the breeze —
they are searching

for a space without cries.
The dew appears

on the grass like
small diamonds
just cut for display.


Copyright © 2015 by Dawnell Harrison

Home Page